


The One Bright Light in Kirkwall

by elfgirl931



Series: Sasha Hawke [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 08:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1811926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfgirl931/pseuds/elfgirl931
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short works featuring Anders and Sasha Hawke, focused on their time in Kirkwall. Prompt fills from Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has trouble concentrating in the presence of a certain mage.

_Focus_ , Anders thought to himself, wiping sweat off of his forehead. The balmy heat of the Wounded Coast had nothing to do with his lack of concentration – the problem was the mage walking some distance ahead of him with guard captain Aveline. Sasha Hawke made no effort to keep her voice down as their little group hunted renegade Qunari. She laughed loudly and gestured widely, sidling from one side of the path to the other. More than once, she glanced back at him with a glint in her green eyes and gave him a mischievous little smile before tossing her hair back and continuing her conversation with Aveline.

      The fourth time it happened, Anders felt Varric’s elbow jab at his ribs. “You might want to pick your jaw up off the floor, Blondie,” the dwarf smirked. “You’re going to start attracting flies.”

      Anders chose not to dignify the comment with a response, walking just fast enough to leave him behind. _Focus_ , he thought again, desperate not to let Varric see his reddening face. Before he could collect himself, though, half a dozen spears came flying towards him, seemingly out of nowhere.

      Hawke had already cast a storm of ice over the Tal Vashoth ambushers, but some of them were already leaping down off the cliff face at her. Aveline braced her shield, throwing off the blows from their spears and maces. Varric immediately began firing bolt after bolt into the fray, reloading Bianca with an almost calm demeanor.

      Luckily, Anders had had enough presence of mind to call up a magical shield to deflect the flying spears. Now he sent bolts of energy flying at the Tal Vashoth, stopping only to call up shields around both Aveline and Sasha. Even in the chaos of battle, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. _Stupid,_ he thought dully, even as he whirled his staff over his head in casting. _She shouldn’t be so close, she should be out of range…_

      He relaxed when Aveline cut down the last of the them. After a cursory glance around the battlefield, she sheathed her sword, and that was the signal for the rest of them to start looting the fallen for anything valuable. Hawke did a little victory dance, twirling her staff and laughing as she skipped over the bodies. Anders shook his head and couldn’t help smiling a bit as he gestured at Aveline to come over to him, wanting to check and see if she needed any healing.

      One moment that his eyes weren’t on her. Just one moment, and when he looked back there was a Tal Vashoth looming over Hawke with a broken spear, screaming _saarebas_.

      Aveline ran in front of Anders’ line of vision, unslinging her shield and shouting a challenge. When he could see Hawke again, his heart nearly stopped. She was lying face down on the ground, and so still. Rage poured over him, and he could feel Justice boiling just beneath the surface, ready to be unleashed.

      As suddenly as she went down, Hawke was on her feet again, the bottom half of her face a mess of blood, but she was _up_. Anders felt almost ashamed at the level of relief he felt to see her alive. She screamed for Aveline to move aside and blasted the Tal-Vashoth with a particularly powerful fireball.

      Anders reached her side, practically shoving Aveline out of the way to cup Hawke’s face in his hands. He desperately  hoped she wasn’t hurt too badly, but there was too much blood pouring down her chin to be able to tell.

      “Come and sit,” he said to her, guiding her gently to sit on a rock, his calm voice betraying the adrenaline still painfully kicking through him.

      “Anders, I’m fine,” Hawke protested. “I stepped back at the last second, he barely got me.”

      “You’re bleeding all over, I’d hardly call that ‘barely.” He rummaged in his pack for his water skin, trying not to let his hands shake. _Focus, Anders. She’s alive. She’ll be fine._ "Hold still."

      “Yes, oh fussy mother hen,” she laughed at him, but abruptly stopped when the skin of her lip ripped a bit further.

      “Now’s the time for you to stop talking,” said Anders, but he kept his voice and his hands gentle as he wiped a damp rag over the blood on her chin. Hawke’s eyes had closed when her lip split, but when she opened them again, he was caught off guard by their green depths, not to mention how close they were to his own. _Focus. Now’s not the time._ Justice raged silently at him inside his head, chastising him for his continuing obsession, but Anders ignored him, as he tended to do these days when it came to Hawke.

      He put two of his fingers over the wide gash on her bottom lip and let cool healing magic wash over the wound, knitting it back together. His hand lingered at the corner of her mouth even after he was done, all of his attention transfixed by the fullness and shape of her lips. Suddenly he was seized with a desire to kiss her, right then and there, even with Varric and Aveline looking on. They were already sitting close together (they _had_ to be, he had rationalized, in order to heal her properly) but now he found himself edging subtly closer, his eyes half lidded – as if he actually _would_ kiss her and it wasn’t just some insane fantasy. Justice roared in the back of his mind, words like **duty** and **distraction** reverberating in his skull, but it still took all of Anders’ willpower to close his eyes and pull away.

      Hawke blinked a few times, glancing from his fingers still on her lips and back to his eyes, and a flush slowly rose in her cheeks. “Anders?” she said quietly. “Is everything all right?”

      He swallowed and reluctantly removed his hand, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. _She deserves better than this._ "Yes. You’re… you’re fine now."

      She gave him her usual cheeky grin, although there was a hint of confusion in her eyes this time. The smile stayed on her lips when she leaned forward to give him a playful kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for taking care of me, mother hen.” Before he could react, Hawke stood up and draped her arm around Aveline’s shoulders, sauntering down the path like nothing had happened.

Anders was rooted where he sat, one hand on his cheek. The place where Hawke had kissed him lingered like a burn, and he found himself wondering what it would feel like to actually kiss her lips. _Keep wondering, for you will never know_ , Justice seethed quietly.

     “C’mon, Blondie,” Varric said by way of interruption, poking Anders in the back of the head. “She won’t wait, you know,” he said, gesturing towards Hawke, who was already running gleefully ahead of Aveline along the path to Kirkwall.

      Anders couldn’t help wondering if the dwarf was talking about something other than the obvious, but by the time he stood up, there was nothing for him to do but try to catch up with the others. Secretly, he was glad to be at the end of the line – he was free to occasionally touch his cheek without being subjected to Varric’s knowing glances.


	2. You Missed Your Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha helps out at the clinic and discovers something new about herself. Drabble written for a Tumblr prompt.

       The first thing that Sasha saw when she walked into Anders' clinic was a little girl, sitting slumped by the door and crying with deep, ragged sobs and holding her arm very still. Sasha frowned and set her basket of food on a cot, looking around for the girl's parents, but the clinic was almost empty. There was a gaggle of people near the back, all talking to Anders at once, but none of them seemed to belong to the little girl.

      Sasha knelt down and looked closely, frowning when she saw the unnatural angle in the girl's arm. It was a bad break. "Don't touch it," she sobbed, curling into herself.

      "I won't," Sasha reassured her in what she hoped was a reassuring voice. "Where's your mother?"

      "I d-don't know," she wailed. "She's working!"

      "Let me get Anders, he's the healer here and he can help you - "

      "No!" The scream seemed to startle the little girl as much as it startled Sasha. "Don't leave me by myself."

      She looked over her shoulder at the back of the clinic, and saw that Anders was still dealing with the crowd. She couldn't just let the little girl sit there by herself - this was just like when Bethany broke her arm as a child.

      "Well, I guess I'll wait for Anders with you," Sasha remarked cheerfully. She sat down with her back against the wall and smiled at the little girl. "My name's Sasha, what's yours?"

      "Tabitha," she sniffled.

      "Tabitha? Anyone ever call you Tabby?"

      "Papa used to."

      "Could I call you... Tabby-cat?" Sasha asked, resisting the urge to ruffle the little girl's hair the way she used to with Bethany.

       Tabitha finally smiled a small, wobbly smile. "I like cats," she finally said.

       "So does Anders! I'm sure he'd be happy to tell you about the cat he used to have, once he's able to get over here. Do you know what the cat's name was?"

      "What?"

      "Ser Pounce-a-lot!"

       Tabitha giggled, her injury all but forgotten. "What kind of cat was he?"

       "He was an orange tabby," Anders said with a grin, kneeling down in front of them. "Best cat in the world - he helped me fight darkspawn, you know."

      "Tabby-cat, this is Anders," Sasha said. "He's going to have a look at your arm, all right?"

      "Will you come too?"

      "Of course. I'll help you get up on that cot, all right?"

      Sasha helped Anders set the arm, talking soothingly to the little girl the whole time. She dredged her memory for funny stories that she used to tell Bethany and Carver, and showed Tabitha how to make shadow puppets on the wall beside the braziers. By the time Anders had healed the arm and instructed the girl to come back in a week, she was beaming. She kissed Sasha shyly on the cheek before leaving.

      "Well, Hawke, I think you missed your calling," Anders remarked, dusting off his hands.

     "Me?" she snorted. "I'm no healer. You know battle magic's my thing."

     "You've got a gift with children. You had that girl _laughing_ while I set her arm. That's no small feat."

     "Yes, well." Sasha shuffled her feat, pleased by his praise. "I didn't mind helping. I could come by once in a while, if you need me."

     "How could I turn you down?" And he gave her that devastatingly happy smile, the one that made her melt inside.

     "I don't know, how can you?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and they came out a little less teasingly than she'd intended.

       "Hawke, you know that I can't - "

      "Forget it, I was just joking," she said hurriedly. She turned around and grabbed the basket of food she'd brought him, thrusting it into his hands. "I'll come by another day. Um, to help you, of course."

      She left the clinic cursing herself and the way she always managed to put her foot in her mouth around Anders. Her jokes went awry with him half the time, and she couldn't seem to stop flirting with him no matter how many times he turned her down. She didn't want to stand there looking at the pained expression she knew would be on his face as she left. But Sasha also knew that she'd be back, because she couldn't stay away, and she knew Anders wouldn't turn her away either.


	3. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> silly fluffy thing. Satinalia party at the Hanged Man

       “Happy Satinalia, Anders,” someone whispered in his ear. He almost missed it over the din of the Hanged Man. He turned to see Sasha grinning at him with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, evidence of the half empty goblet of holiday berry wine clutched in her hand.

      “And to you, Hawke.” He tried to think of some safe comment to make about the weather, the holiday, anything to keep him from staring at her red-stained lips, but it was no use. He stood there gawking like a boy, and then Merrill laughed at them as she passed by.

      “Oooh, Hawke, you’re standing under the mistletoe! Doesn’t that mean that you have to kiss Anders? I mean, if we were among the Dalish, mistletoe is used for poison antidotes and helping our halla, but of course if we were among the Dalish we wouldn’t be celebrating Satinalia anyway, would we?” She looked at the two of them expectantly. “Well, aren’t you going to kiss? Or have I gotten the tradition wrong?”

      Sasha’s cheeks had gone from a light flush from her wine to bright, full red. “No, Merrill, that’s the right tradition,” she mumbled, looking anywhere but Anders.

      “Well, don’t you want to kiss him? I thought you said - “

      “ _There_ you are, Kitten,” Isabela interrupted. She slapped a goblet into Merrill’s hand. “You promised me that you were going to try this wine with me. Probably over there,” she added, gesturing with her head to the other side of the room.

      “All right,” Merrill said cheerfully. “Happy Satinalia, Hawke. And Anders!” she called over her shoulder as Isabela practically dragged her away.

       “Well,” Anders said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess we should -“

      ” - actually honor the tradition,” blurted Sasha. Her face was still red but she finally looked him in the eye, a stubborn look on her face that practically said _I dare you._

       That challenge was not something he could resist. Anders leaned slowly towards her, intending to kiss her cheek, but Sasha leaned toward him the opposite way, and somehow their lips collided halfway.

     Anders almost gave in to temptation and pulled her into his arms - he wanted nothing more than to let their kiss consume him and press as close to her as he could. He allowed himself to taste her lips for scant seconds before stepping back, and he tried to ignore the desire racing through his veins and demanding that he kiss her again.

       Sasha smiled at him again before ducking shyly back into the crowd. Anders reflected that it was lucky she was a little drunk - otherwise she might not have walked away. He wouldn't have been able to resist her a second time. 


	4. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Anders confesses that he loves Hawke. Fluffy cuddles.

      Upon waking, Anders felt nothing but confusion. Instead of a hard cot under his back, he felt a firm mattress and clean sheets. He couldn’t smell the offal and waste of Lowtown, only a vague scent of dried flowers and cinnamon. No groans of the sick and dying greeted his ears, only a gently crackling fire and soft sounds of breathing. He felt so rested and comfortable that he could barely keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds. Try as he might, his body would not let him lift his head from the soft pillow it rested on. After a few minutes, he was able to turn his head slightly and his eyes met a soft fall of auburn hair.

      _Sasha_. Of course, he was in the Hawke estate, in her bed, no less. The previous night came rushing back to him suddenly, and he became hyper-aware of her naked body cuddled against him. Inclining his head a bit more, he was able to see more of her face pillowed against his chest. Justice muttered indignantly in the back of his mind, but it was more subdued than usual.

      _I told her I loved her last night. I gave in._ Before Anders could pursue that weighty train of thought, Hawke’s eyes opened sleepily and she smiled at him.

      “Hello,” she murmured, stretching languidly while scratching gently at his chest hair.

     “Hello yourself,” he answered with a smile, turning over and propping up on one elbow to look at her. _She wants me to stay_ , he remembered. _She said she loves me too._

      Hawke finished her stretching and curled back up again, burying her face against his shoulder and curling her fists against his chest. “Let’s stay here in bed today,” she mumbled, closing her eyes again.

      In response, Anders wrapped both of his arms around her and rolled over, pulling her up on top of him. She groaned in protest but was quickly silenced when he kissed her. “I’ll stay in bed with you all day and then some, sweetheart.”


	5. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha helps Anders cope after a nightmare.

     They’re always the same, more or less. The darkness creeps up on him slowly, creeping into his regular run-of-the-mill dreams so insidiously that he never sees them coming. Then the voices start, a mix of snarls and rasps and words he can almost understand, coming closer to him through a green tinged mist. Sometimes he’s running through stands of dead trees, sometimes flat on his back in a stone cell, sometimes in the airless caves of the Deep Roads, but always they stay just out of sight, coming closer and closer till he might pass out from the terror they evoke - but the moment never comes. The anticipation and fear grow like a fungus across his subconscious but the darkspawn never jump at him, never grab him. Not yet.

      Nights like these he always wakes the same way, sitting straight up in bed with a scream tearing out of his throat that he stops just in time by biting down on the side of his hand. Sweat soaks his body, sticking his nightshirt to his back and plastering his hair to his forehead. He slowly scrubs his hands over his eyes, trying to still his trembling. He knows it will be hours before he sleeps again, if he’s able to sleep at all.

      But he has forgotten about Sasha.

      Almost the moment he sits up in bed, she wakes up too, and when he starts rubbing his eyes, she knows. She puts her arms around him from the back, resting her head on one shoulder. When she feels him shaking, she hugs him tighter for a second, and then shifts up to her knees, folding her body around him from the front. She peels his shirt off of him and then drapes her arms across his back, dragging her fingertips softly across his skin in an aimless but comforting pattern.

      For his part, Anders clings to her like a lifeline, holding her body as close as he can and burying his face in the crook of her neck. He squeezes his burning eyes shut and takes deep breaths, willing his body to stop shaking. The soft, clean scent of her hair and skin envelopes him, and he allows his body to sag against her.

      After a time, Sasha sits up a bit and looks at him. “Do you need to talk about it?” she asks quietly.

      He shakes his head. “It’s already gone, love.”

     They lie back down and she kisses his forehead before settling in as close as she can, one arm draped over his side. Anders doesn’t realize until the morning that he has fallen asleep again, and this time did not dream.

       Sasha is more of a gift than she realizes.


	6. Kitten

      Sasha's odd behavior began when the group returned from their latest excursion to the Wounded Coast. She always walked back to the estate with Anders these days - he still felt strange walking in and calling the place his home, let alone strolling in by himself.

       “Go on, I’ll meet you at home,” she said with a barely contained smile. “Merrill and I have to take care of something.” Before he could ask exactly what they had to do, they were halfway down the broad stairs leading to Lowtown, arm in arm and giggling like a pair of schoolgirls.

      Anders said goodbye to Varric rather gloomily and trudged off by himself. The hot weather and the seemingly endless slew of bandits throwing themselves at him had not improved his mood that day. He’d been looking forward to walking back to the estate with Hawke and then getting in the bath with her to scrub off the dust and sweat of the day. Only the Maker knew what harebrained scheme Merrill had cooked up and how long it would take Hawke to get home now.

      When Anders reached the estate, he pushed the door open wearily and bid a rather short hello to Bodahn before making his way upstairs. Rather than a bath, he decided to make do with the water from the pitcher by Hawke’s bed - _his_ and Hawke’s bed, he corrected himself. Months into living with her, he was still getting used to the fact that they were together, and it was all right to be happy once in a while. He threw his dirty clothes in the corner and toweled off until he felt reasonably clean. When he had a clean shirt on, he let himself flop down on the bed, facing the pleasant dilemma of whether he should eat or take a nap while waiting for Hawke.

      The nap won without his realizing it. When his eyes opened again, the sun had almost set and his stomach was growling with hunger. As he sat up, he realized he was not alone on the bed. A very small presence purred on the bed next to him. Anders sat up very carefully, almost not believing what he was seeing. A tiny ginger tabby kitten with a blue bow tied around its neck lay curled up tightly on the bed, fast asleep. When Anders moved, its eyes opened blearily and it yawned, showing a pink mouth full of sharp little teeth.

      Sasha walked in the room with a tray of food, walking quietly at first. When she saw that he was awake, her face fell and her shoulders slumped. “Damn. I was hoping to be here when you woke up.” She set the tray on her desk and then sat next to him on the bed, taking his hand and kissing him on the nose. “Well, surprise. I know he’s not Ser Pounce-a-lot, but I thought you might like him anyway.”

      All traces of Anders’ bad mood vanished completely. “This is where you went with Merrill?” he asked quietly, rubbing the kitten’s head with one finger.

     “Yes. I heard her talking to you the other day about kittens in the Lowtown market. Turns out they had a tabby,” she said, giving him _that_ smile she always saved just for him.

       Anders turned his body away from the kitten to embrace Sasha. “Have I ever mentioned that I love you and you are perfect?” he murmured into her ear, pressing a kiss there afterwards.

      He felt her shoulders shake with laughter. “Yes, but you can always tell me again.” She pulled away slightly to look at him, the smile still lighting up her face. “What will you name him?”

      Anders stood up, scooped up the kitten with one hand, and pulled Sasha up with the other. “Ser Pounce-a-lot the Second, of course,” he answered cheekily.

      She cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. “Come on, Anders. I didn’t traipse all over Lowtown at the end of a very long day for you to name your new cat after your old one!”

      He pretended to consider. “Hmmm. Maybe I could name him… Bran, after our beloved Seneschal.”

      Sasha made a gagging noise. “Only if you want him to grow up and be the most pompous cat in Kirkwall.” She gave Anders a mock glare. “If you can’t think of a serious name, no dinner for you.”

      “All right, seriously this time… what about Bartrand?”

      “Anders!”

      “All right, all right,” he laughed, pulling her in for a kiss, after placing the kitten gently back on the bed. “You help me think of a good one while we eat.”


	7. Meant No Harm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angsty drabble. After killing Ser Alrik, Anders is horrified at what he almost did.

      “Calm down, love. Wake up.” Sasha’s voice came to him from far away, as if he were hearing her from underwater. “Dammit, does anyone have something to splash on his face?”

      Slowly Anders felt someone rubbing his back in long strokes. He became aware that he was crouched on the ground with his hands over his head, and that Sasha knelt next to him. “Don’t need that,” he grunted. His voice felt hoarse, as though he’d been screaming. He raised his head to see a young mage girl lying on the ground in front of him, her eyes filled with terror.

       Memories lumbered through his mind, slow as syrup and distorted by blue light - Justice had taken over again, then. He tried to stand, stumbled, and Sasha was there, firmly holding him up and closing his hand around his staff. He leaned on it gratefully and took a step towards the girl, who still cowered on the ground.

      Before he could get close, she screamed, “Get away from me, demon!” and scrambled backwards, fleeing out of the cave as fast as she could.

      Anders turned to Sasha, stricken with horror. “What did I do?’

      “Justice did it,” she said firmly, crossing her arms. Her face was unusually somber.

      “Justice is part of me,” he whispered, but the statement lacked its usual conviction. He wasn’t sure what was true anymore.

      “Whatever happened, _you_ didn’t mean that girl any harm, Anders.”

      And so he played the coward and fled, unable to face her confidence. Sasha truly believed that he was innocent, and he _felt_ it deep in his heart, as a bird knows the way south, that he was not.


	8. Tranquillity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders faces what would happen if Sasha were made Tranquil.

      Anders opens his eyes slowly. He’s lying on the ground, cheek to the pavement, and can’t quite remember how he got there. He tries to get up but a boot shoves him back to the ground and holds him there. Furiously he calls up his magic, but it fizzles in his chest and dies out. Cold dread slips down his spine as he raises his head to see a group of Templars surrounding him. His worst nightmares are coming true.

     “He’s awake. Do it.” The wall of Templars parts and Anders’s heart drops. They have Sasha and it’s obvious she fought them hard. Her robes are partially burned and she has a gag over her mouth. Templars stand on either side of her, hands on her shoulders as if to prevent her from escaping, even though it’s clear that she can’t move - they’ve drained her mana so many times that she looks completely dazed and pale.

       “Sasha!” Anders calls out, and earns a kick to the side of his head. Once his vision clears and his ears stop ringing, he sees that she has been forced to her knees. Her eyes are on him, pleading for him to do something.

      “Now scream, Champion,” one of the Templars taunts her, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. “Scream and perhaps we’ll spare you.” Sasha’s eyes narrow with hatred, and Anders knows she would spit if her mouth weren’t gagged.

      “Have it your way, then.” Another Templar walks forward, a lyrium-laced branding iron clutched in his gloved hands. Anders understands too late what they’re about to do, and he struggles wildly but more Templar boots slam down on his back, holding him to the ground. He hears Sasha screaming around the gag when they press the brand to her forehead and then the Templars are grabbing his hair and forcing his head up and making him watch.

      He can see the fight leaving her - her shoulders slowly slump and her head sags lower the longer they press the brand to her flesh. She’s no longer screaming, and her eyes close, but there’s still a strange sobbing noise and Anders realizes he is the one making it. The Templars let her fall to the ground. “Leave her,” one says. “She’ll be an example to those who defy Meredith.”

      “What about this one?” Another shoves Anders with his boot.

     “Leave him too. It’ll be a lesson to him.” The last Templar to leave is the one holding Anders down, and he delivers one last kick to his ribs before leaving.

      As soon as he can move, Anders crawls painfully over to where Sasha is lying, pulling her head into his lap. “Wake up, please Sasha wake up,” he whispers, and realizes then that he is weeping. He traces the horrible red sun burned into her skin, and that is when her eyes open.

      Where they were once sparkling and full of life, now her green eyes have gone flat and dull. She slowly pulls herself up and stands without his help, not seeming to notice that he tries to hold onto her. She is totally still where she should be animated, silent where she should have been laughing. Anders scrambles to his feet and takes her by the shoulders.

       “Say something, Sasha,” he begs her, wanting to believe against everything that she’s all right.

       “What would you like me to say?” She looks straight at him, calm and lifeless where she should be smiling and saying that she’s fine. Her hands hang limp at her sides where they should be holding his.

      Anders sobs and clutches her to his chest, weeping into the shoulder of her robes. She stands impassively with her arms still hanging limply at her sides. He slides to his knees, unable to bear the weight of what has been done to her. What he has allowed to happen. After a time he is able to stand again, and slowly draws his knife from the inside of his boot. _I made a promise. I can’t let her stay like this._

      But when he looks at Sasha again, Anders loses his resolve. He turns away and presses his hands over his eyes, letting the knife fall to the ground. To his surprise, Sasha bends down and picks it up.

     “You dropped this,” she says, holding it out to him. “I believe you were going to kill me with it.” Anders stares at her in horror.  “You made a promise to me a long time ago. I asked you to kill me if I were ever made Tranquil. If you feel you must fulfill that promise I will not stop you.” She might have been discussing the weather.

      “No,” he whispers. “No, no no, NO!”

      He wakes up then, struggling so hard against the tangling sheets that he nearly falls off the bed. A hand presses gently but firmly on his chest and another strokes his forehead.

      “I’m here, Anders,” Sasha’s voice comes soothingly out of the darkness. “It was just a dream.”

      He turns in the bed and clings to her, pressing her as close to him as he can. He has to kiss her forehead over and over again to reassure himself that it is still smooth and unbranded, and it is a long time before he can stop shaking.

       “What did you dream?” Sasha asks after a time, when he has calmed.

       “I don’t remember,” he lies. He cannot tell her that he loves her too much, that he is too weak to keep his promises.


	9. A Morning Gone Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sad prompt from Tumblr. What starts out as a lovely morning is ruined by thieves and an appearance by Justice.

      On a morning much like any other, Sasha opens her eyes and sees Anders propped up one elbow, smiling at her. It’s not an uncommon occurrence since he moved in, but she can’t help smiling back.

      “What are you looking at?” she asks, stretching lazily.

      “Oh, just contemplating your perfection,” he says nonchalantly.

      “Smart answer,” Sasha laughs, and scoots a little closer to him in the bed. She takes in the sight of his his mussed, unbound hair, stubbled cheeks, and the dusting of golden hair on his chest, and then her eyes travel up to meet his, and the love she sees there is enough to make happiness bubble up in her chest. She knows that neither of them have felt this happy or relaxed in ages.

      Their lips meet slowly and unhurriedly, and for a long while there is nothing but the warm pressure of their kiss and the slide of fingertips and skin.

       “I should really go to the clinic today,” Anders murmurs into her hair.

       Sasha ignores him and moves her lips down his neck, sucking gently at the soft skin above his collarbone.

      “Ah… if you keep doing that I’ll never want to leave the bed,” he groans.

       “That’s the plan,” she murmurs, giving him a wicked grin.

      “Sasha…” he protests weakly,  “I have to -“

       “Stay with me,” she interrupts, pausing her ministrations. “The clinic can wait a bit longer, can’t it? You’re there all the time.”

      “It’s my duty to the refugees. You know I love to be with you, but you never know who could be waiting for me down there.”

       Sasha pillows her cheek on his chest and sighs. “We don’t get enough time to ourselves, love. Maybe it’s selfish, but I want you to myself today. I can’t get enough of you.”

       “What, even after a year of living with me?” he asks in mock horror, pressing a hand to his forehead.

      “Well of course. It’ll always be that way for me.”

       Anders stares at her then, caught off guard at her frankness. He rolls over to press his forehead to hers. “Maker, I love you, Sasha,” he says quietly.

       “Well, how could you not? You yourself just said I was perfect,” she smirks. She kisses his cheek and then draws back, considering. “What if you stay with me this morning, then we go down to the clinic after lunch? I’ll even stay and help you.”

      “All right, you’ve convinced me. I’ll be a fool in love today.” He kisses her once and then rolls out of bed to get dressed.

      The morning is nearly perfect. Breakfast in bed, and then a walk through the markets. They enjoy the air and the sun, and Anders even buys Hawke a cunning little locket shaped like a bird in flight. She laughs and calls him a sentimental fool, but clasps the chain around her neck immediately. They laugh and talk about everything and nothing, and Sasha can practically see the weight lifting off of Anders’ shoulders.

       “It almost feels strange,” Sasha remarks as they stroll through Darktown, eating their cooling meat pies.

      “What does?” Anders asks around a mouthful.

     “I don’t know. Doing things that normal couples do. Instead of chasing bandits or blowing up dragons or fending off giant spiders.”

       “I suppose we aren’t a normal couple, are we?” Anders looks so sad that Sasha stops and puts a hand on his chest.

       “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I love what we have. I knew what I was signing up for when I fell in love with an apostate.”

      Anders sighs. “I know, love. It’s just that - ” His eyes suddenly focus on something over her shoulder. They stand at the stairs leading up to the clinic, and he frowns. “No…” he mutters. His meat pie drops to the ground and he bolts up the steps.

     Sasha follows and her heart lurches unpleasantly at what they find. The locks have been broken and the doors forced off of their hinges. A sour, oily smell permeates the clinic as they walk in. The braziers have been knocked over, cots ripped apart, and Anders’ careful stock of bandages has been mutilated. Worse still, his entire inventory of potions is gone - what the thieves couldn’t carry out, they smashed to the floor.

       “Maker, who would do this?” Sasha whispers in horror.

       “Carta, probably,” Anders says dully, staring at the empty shelves numbly. She takes a step towards him with her hand reached out to comfort, but suddenly he whirls on her, his fingers gripping her wrist almost hard enough to bruise. Blue cracks open up in his skin, and a terrible glow emanates from his eyes.

      “ **Injustice has been commited here**!” Justice roars at her from Anders’ mouth. “ **It is YOUR fault!** ”

       Sasha wrenches her wrist out of his grip and glares at him. “It’s my fault, is it, that thieves broke in while we were out? I must be quite the criminal to mastermind that without even knowing it.”

      “ **If Anders had been here, this could have been prevented. Instead he was shirking his duty, wasting time with you!** ”

      “Anders doesn’t think I’m a waste of time. And who are you to tell him what his duty is?”

       “ **You are nothing but a distraction** ,” Justice insists. “ **You sidetrack him from his purpose**.”

       Sasha stares at him for a moment. “I wish you would leave us alone,” she says softly. “I wish you could let him be happy.”

       Justice seems taken aback. **"Even if I wished for such a thing, it is impossible,** " he finally says. **"Anders shares my purpose. We both wish to bring justice to those who wrong others**.”

      Anders comes back to himself suddenly, the cracks of light seeping back into his skin. He sways a little on his feet, and then looks at her. “Why are you crying?” he asks unsteadily. He doesn’t seem to realize that Justice took over at all.

       “I’m just upset that someone would do this,” she says quietly, wiping her face. “Let’s round up some of the others and see if we can track down the thieves.”


	10. Wardrobe Malfunction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders tries to convince Sasha to skip a meeting with Seneschal Bran. He is semi-successful. Naughty chapter.

      "I'll be right down, Bohdan," Sasha called down the stairs. "Have the Seneschal wait for me in the library when he arrives, all right?"

      "Yes Messere," Bohdan answered cheerfully. "Shall I set out the Antivan  brandy for him?"

      "Go ahead," she replied. _And maybe he'll choke on it,_ she thought moodily as she closed her bedroom door. Seneschal Bran had been sending her increasingly irritated letters for weeks, needing to meet with her about some matter or another. Her dislike of the man had kept her from replying, and her amusement at his vexed state had kept the matter going on for longer than it strictly should. Unfortunately, he'd managed to corner her in the Viscount's Keep the previous day and had all but invited himself to her mansion for what he called an exceedingly important meeting.

       After tugging a comb through her hair and binding it in its usual short tail, Sasha stepped into the deep green gown that Orana had laid out for her. She was just struggling to button the last button on the back when she heard a thump against her window. It creaked open and Anders tumbled into the room, bringing a gust of cool autumn air with him.

       "Andraste's ass, Anders, can't you use the door like a normal person?" Sasha exclaimed. "How did you even get up here?"

     "Climbed the vines," he answered cheerfully as she pulled him to his feet.

      "And _why_ did you feel the need to climb up to my window instead of using the door?"

       "That tit of a seneschal was outside your door. Didn't fancy a run-in." Anders shrugged off his coat and laid in across the desk chair. Sure enough, Sasha heard Seneschal Bran's imperious tones floating up from the front hall.

      "Well, I've got a meeting with that tit of a seneschal, so if you'll excuse me...."

      "Wait, love, you've got a button undone. Let me." Anders gently caught her by the wrist and turned her around. She felt his fingers against her back, but they stilled on the fabric without buttoning. "Is this new?" he asked softly.

      "No, you've seen me wear it before, you silly man," Sasha laughed. "Hurry and button me, I want to get this meeting over with."

       Instead, she felt Anders undo the next button down, and then the next. Sasha's protest died on her lips when his lips pressed softly against her skin and he began kissing his way down her spine. He slowly unbuttoned the rest of her dress, following his fingers with his lips. When the sleeves slid down her arms, Anders pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her exposed shoulder. She couldn't help the little gasp that escaped her, and could practically feel him _smirking_ against her skin.

       "While this is lovely, Anders," Sasha said with as much dignity as she could muster, "I have a very annoyed Seneschal waiting for me downstairs."

       "He can wait a bit longer," Anders murmured. He turned her around and pushed her back against the door, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that left her breathless. He kissed her the way he always did, as though he was starving for her and would never get tired of drinking her in. He groaned into her mouth when she reached up behind his head and pulled out the tie that bound his hair, letting it fall around her fingers as she tugged him closer.

       Anders pressed his whole body flush against hers, letting her feel his hardened length against her thigh. "See what you do to me, sweetheart?" he whispered against her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there.

       Sasha opened her mouth to give him a tart retort _about who started what_ , but she froze when someone knocked at the door.

       "Messere Hawke? Seneschal Bran is waiting for you in the study," Bohdan called softly.

       "Tell him I'll be down in a minute," Sasha gasped out. She glared at Anders, who had rucked up her skirt and slipped his fingers into her smalls. He grinned wickedly and brushed his thumb up her wet slit.

     "Is everything all right?" Bohdan asked. "Shall I send Orana up to help you?"

       "No!" Sasha exclaimed, her head knocking back against the door. Anders had added a second finger and was stroking her into a frenzy. He had gone back to kissing the sensitive skin of her neck, and it was all she could do to stand upright.

       "No," she said again, barely able to keep from panting. "I'm fine, Bohdan. I'll be down in... ah... just a moment."

       Anders at least had the good grace to wait until the manservant went down the stairs before he started using tiny pulses of electricity against her sex. That and the way he stroked her slick folds _just so_ was enough to push Sasha over the edge. She let out a muffled cry into the fabric of his shirt and clung to him as pleasure surged through her, and there was nothing but his clever fingers working at her and the sound of his whispered encouragement in her ear.

      When she came back to her senses, Anders was still holding her upright, kissing her hair and gently stroking her back. "Damn you, Anders," she murmured. "How am I supposed to go see the Seneschal now? You've turned me into a puddle of mush."

      "Bugger the seneschal _,"_ Anders grumbled, pulling her into another kiss. "Stay here with me."

       "Hmmm, I suppose I should return the favor, shouldn't I?" Sasha tapped her chin, considering. Before he could answer, she sent out a  gentle but firm wave of Force magic to push him backwards and down onto the bed. "But I'm afraid you'll just have to wait for it, won't you?"

       "You wouldn't," Anders groaned. "Are you really going to leave me here like this?"

       "Turnabout's fair play, my love," Sasha answered cheekily. She shut the door firmly behind her, and he could hear her whispering to Orana to hurry and do up her buttons. Anders settled into the bed, hoping that the meeting would be done quickly and they could pick up where they left off.

      Sasha's voice floated up the stairway, perhaps for Anders' benefit. "So sorry to keep you waiting, Seneschal. I had a... wardrobe malfunction this evening."


End file.
